I didn't run the full 3.6 miles. The course is basically one long incline, and I'll tell ya: that hurt. But when I slowed down (only twice, success!), I didn't beat myself up. I just enjoyed people-watching in the sea of green. And when I was ready, it felt easy to start running again, simply because everybody else was.

About three miles in, my legs really started to tire (so much for that treadmill incline I was so proud of). The finish line was nowhere in sight. That damn side stitch was back with a vengeance. But I repeated my mantra — “I am strong, I am a runner” — over and over again, breathing deep and turning up the music in my headphones. And before I knew it, I was coming around the last bend, sprinting to the finish. It felt like it was over as soon as it began. Adrenaline carried me through.

I felt ecstatic, inspired. But looking back now, the memory is bittersweet.

First, let me back up a minute and tell you why I traveled more than 2,600 miles to run my first race. It’s because my (insanely supportive) family is based in Seattle, and I wanted to share this experience with them. And I got to: My mom was at the finish line cheering me on, and my uncle and aunt and cousins took me for victory tacos. That was the sweet part.

Now for the bitter. My grandfather, who had been battling bladder cancer, passed away not 24 hours after I crossed the finish line. He was a farmer by trade and a nice person by choice. He could do long division in his head. His hair was always perfectly combed, Sinatra-style. He had a great smile. He lived next door to me practically my whole life.

So the elation of completing this achievement will forever be linked to the despair of losing a loved one. But you know what? That’s ok. Because I’m grateful that I was there with my family when he passed. I’m grateful I got the chance to say goodbye. I’m grateful I’m strong enough to handle what life throws at me — be it a challenge I can prepare for or one I simply can’t.

Maybe that should be my new mantra: I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

So, in my grief, I’m trying to decide what’s next for me and this running thing. I’ll admit, the bad training runs, the workouts I slogged through — these things were tough. This experience has been a real challenge. But now that I’m on the other side of race day, I see that running has taught me so much about myself. And in the end, isn’t that what makes anything worth doing?